


where shall we end

by martialartist816



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Blood Drinking, Gore, M/M, No Lube, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:47:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28061163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martialartist816/pseuds/martialartist816
Summary: Ciel pulls the gun from his cloak and aims it at the cultist who spoke. Anger rolls off of him like heat from a radiator. Sebastian would very much like to warm his hands.
Relationships: Sebastian Michaelis/Ciel Phantomhive
Comments: 6
Kudos: 76





	where shall we end

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday to the young lord

It’s a sunny day, but not down here.

Meters under the ground, buried in dirt and stone beneath an estate in the country, there is no sun. The cold, hard sediment traps moisture in its cracks. Everything smells like must and mold, just barely masking the ripe scent of human desperation and despair.

Ciel’s footsteps echo through the chamber when they enter, Sebastian like a silent shadow behind him. The whole place is eerily similar to the pit Sebastian found his young master in—an altar in the center, person-sized cages in the wings of the room, candles to blanket the sacrifices in light.

They’re too late to stop it. The blade carves a bright crescent into the throat of a girl just as Ciel reaches the bottom of the winding steps. Her dying screech bubbles quickly into a wet gurgling, and a curtain of red spills over the altar and joins the pool at the cultists’ feet. So much blood humans carry in their small, breakable bodies. Sebastian is always fascinated to see just how much.

Ciel freezes at the threshold and gasps, too quiet for anyone but Sebastian to hear. The long black robes and avant garde masks must be so familiar to him, the altar strikingly alike to the one he met three years ago. This is not the same cult, and Ciel knows that, but that there are so many of these people lurking beneath this precious country of his, he must find terrifying. Sebastian senses it in the rapid uptick in his master’s heartbeat.

The blood collected on the floor ripples in the candlelight. There is so much of it that it’s apparent this girl was the last in their slaughter. The other bodies lay piled up behind a stone pillar, in the dark, out of sight, attracting flies. Ciel will find them later.

“Any survivors?” Ciel mutters.

“None, my lord.”

The young master clicks his tongue in irritation and steps into the light. A cultist notices and raises his dirtied blade.

“Intruder!”

The group of them faces Ciel and Sebastian, prepared to defend their ritual with their lives. Always their lives.

Ciel stands proudly with his cane, his dark overcoat, and his tophat. Looking so put together in the face of such degeneracy and pervertedness.

“By order of the Queen, the crimes you commit to fit your twisted fantasies will be put to a permanent end,” he states.

“Earl,” says another. Ciel takes in a soft breath, but of course, they would know who he is. They would know by his eyepatch, by the invisible leash he wears for the queen, by the butler in black always at his side. By rumor alone. “You have never tasted blood. Should you venture into the divine drink with us, you would not seek to destroy us.”

Ciel pulls the gun from his cloak and aims it at the cultist who spoke. Anger rolls off of him like heat from a radiator. Sebastian would very much like to warm his hands.

“You think I would want to associate myself with you?” Ciel spits. “You vermin, you pretend-vampires, killing innocent people in troves to drink their blood because you think you’re better than everyone else?”

He cocks the gun, and Sebastian senses the first waves of fear from those surrounding the altar.

“You think I don’t know blood?” Ciel continues. He approaches the center of the room slowly, gun steady all the way. “You think I haven’t tasted it, haven’t felt it pouring from my own body at the hands of scum just like you? You’re a stain on this country, and the only divine thing about your way of life is the way I’m going to send you to meet God.”

A murmur goes through the crowd, but Sebastian doesn’t let the thoughts fully form in their heads. Their throats open easily when he blurs through the chamber with his cutlery, each one dropping in succession to the next. Their bodies splash down into the blood below, and the pool grows with each throat he slits.

He spares just one—the one Ciel has his gun pointed to. Sebastian plucks the dagger from his trembling hands to remove the last bit of danger so his master can play.

“Only a coward hides behind a mask. But I suppose that’s fitting for a rat that’s burrowed itself underground,” Ciel sneers.

He steps into the pool of blood. It comes up just to the tops of his shoes, rippling quietly as Ciel advances to the sole surviving cultist. Sebastian restrains his arms so there’s nowhere to run as the earl rips the mask off his face.

Underneath, he’s just a middle aged man with puffy eyes and cheeks round from gluttonous consumption.

“You can’t murder me,” he begs. “You have to take me to the police! There must be a trial!”

Sebastian kicks the backs of his knees so the man falls to the ground. Ciel stands half a head taller than him now, and when he looks down at him with his uncovered eye, there’s something callous in there.

“Your faith that I adhere to the law is foolish.” Ciel stuffs the barrel of the gun into the man’s mouth, cutting off his next cry. “The only word I obey is that of the Queen’s, and she’s asked me to ensure you so-called vampires never take the life of one of her citizens again.”

A whimper stutters out of him, muffled and wet around the gun.

“Are there more of you? Other congregations?” Ciel demands. Nothing from the man. “I will find them and kill every last one. I’ve gotten quite good at hunting, you see. My hound here has a nose for blood.”

Ciel drags a finger absently over his eyepatch, and after a pause, he pulls the string to loosen it around his head. The small swatch falls from him and floats in the blood around their feet. Ciel takes the gun from the man’s mouth and taps it under his chin, then he opens the eye that bears his covenant with Sebastian.

The mark is familiar to the cultist. It doesn’t take very long to make the connection between the seal and the man standing behind him, and he gasps in fear, because he realizes it is no man at all.

“You’re just as damned as the rest of us,” the man says weakly. “Bound for the same hell.”

Ciel grimaces and grabs the man’s collar, dragging him closer. Sebastian stands quietly behind because the game is already set for checkmate. The knight has no further business on the board at this time.

“And yet I live to tell the tale. You and your breed are dying, gone extinct by _my_ hands.” Ciel violently drags the cultist down to the floor, forcing him to breathe in the commingling blood. No matter how much he sputters, Ciel keeps his head down with the gun pressed to the back of his neck. “I promise my hell will be far worse than yours, but while I’m still alive, while there is still blood coursing through my veins, _I win.”_

When the gun goes off, the shot echoes around the chamber, accompanied by the dying gurgles of Ciel’s victim. The bullet makes a clear hole through his neck; blood and air bubble up around him until everything goes still, his breathing, his heart, and the metaphysical quaking of a soul as it leaves his body.

The blood spatter splashes Ciel’s cheek. After a long beat, he straightens out and touches his face with two fingers, inspecting the reddened pads when he pulls them away.

“Do demons enjoy the taste of blood, Sebastian?” Ciel asks dispassionately.

“We find it marginally more flavorful than the food humans eat, but it cannot sustain us,” Sebastian answers.

With a casual and morbid curiosity, Ciel pokes a finger into his mouth and licks the blood off it. He shudders at the taste, but he cleans the other finger off in a similar fashion. Using the end of his overcoat, he wipes the rest off of his face.

“Do vampires exist?”

“There are some scattered about Europe.” Sebastian grins. “England has a favorable climate for their tastes, but you won’t find many in the city.

“Hm,” Ciel exhales through his nose.

“Shall we take our leave, young master?”

Rather than answer right away, Ciel looks to the altar where the sacrificed girl has bled dry by now.

“This place… It’s so familiar.” Ciel says softly. “I thought it would take me back to that day, that altar.”

“But it didn’t?” Sebastian prods.

“It’s silly.” Ciel pushes the body with his shoe until it rolls over. “That day, I thought I was surrounded by devils, but these men are just men. They probably had normal lives, normal homes, and underneath was this dirty secret. If only I had been half as powerful back then as I am now.” He laughs, quiet and bitter. “They all die so easily.”

He strides over to the altar and unfastens his cloak. The fabric whispers over his shoulders and just barely skates across the drenched stone steps. After a pensive moment, he covers the body of the girl in a sign of respect. Always so crude to the living, and yet so tender to the dead. Sebastian wonders if it’s a childlike reaction, or if Ciel sees himself in the victims. Cults, spies, rippers, they all prey on the innocent. Ciel no longer wears that title.

“Would you like me to do anything with the bodies, sir?” Sebastian asks.

Ciel turns around, hooks a finger in his tie, and drags the knot loose. He drops that article to float around with his discarded eyepatch, and when he comes back to Sebastian, both mis-matched eyes are bright.

“Take me, Sebastian. Right now,” Ciel orders.

Sebastian falters for a moment. His master usually abhors having to endure even a second of uncleanliness on his person. However, the pull of their contract is exceptionally high right now. Sebastian feels the invisible reach between their bodies. Ciel’s manic execution just minutes ago is a sign that he needs something to tether him. It gets like that, at times. Times when the young master needs to be grounded, lest he succumb to the weight of his position and his actions. Always, he asks that of Sebastian, and Sebastian only. Always.

“My lord.” Sebastian bows his head.

His fingers make quick work of the buttons on his own overcoat. It’s already dirty, soaked with blood, so Sebastian drops it onto the floor. His pure white gloves follow shortly after, taking to red stains so easily.

Next, he goes for Ciel’s jacket and shirt. Both of them open to expose his chest, skin so pale one might think he, too, has been drained of blood. If it weren’t, of course, for the pink blush that spreads across his cheeks when he leans up to kiss Sebastian’s jaw, arms winding around his neck. No matter how many times they’ve endeavored this together, the blush remains. Perhaps there is some innocence left in him yet.

“Shall I make room on the altar?”

Ciel’s clothes fall down his shoulders and get caught at the elbows. The hold he has around Sebastian’s neck is still tight, Ciel standing up on his toes to leave more hurried kisses around his ear, so Sebastian moves to undo his shorts.

“No,” Ciel whispers harshly just before biting the lobe. “On the floor. In the blood.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

Ciel’s mouth finds his, hungry as it always is. That’s not to say Sebastian doesn’t share the same eagerness. He adores the taste of his master, drinks him in whenever he’s given permission. Sebastian tastes the last dregs of blood from Ciel’s tongue when he probes into his mouth.

He rids himself of the tailcoat and goes to undo his tie.

“Leave the rest of it,” Ciel orders against his lips, all teeth and tongue.

His arms unhook so Ciel can give him a little shove, all the indication Sebastian needs to lower himself and Ciel to the floor.

Blood soaks into Ciel’s hair as soon as he’s laid on his back. The red is so stark against his ghostly skin, and Ciel shivers.

“Is it too cold for you?”

“Still warm.”

“And the stone floor? Is it too rough on your skin?” Sebastian leans over him on all fours, seeing the shimmer of his own eyes reflected in the ripples around Ciel’s head.

“I’ve never once cared about a little pain,” Ciel answers truthfully. “Get to it already, so we can burn this place to the ground when we’re finished.”

“Prudent as ever,” Sebastian responds with a bit of humor in his breath.

As they kiss again, the smell of blood so unremitting around them, Sebastian makes quick work of Ciel’s shoes and stockings. A splash sounds from where they’re thrown, wet like their intermittent kisses. Ciel gasps sweetly when Sebastian slides a sticky finger into him, legs splaying out like he’s learning how to swim. As much as Sebastian loves when Ciel pulls his hair in passion, he takes those greedy hands away from his head and pins his wrists to the stone with one grip. He can’t have him flailing so much, because they’ll both end up with blood in their eyes, and how would he be left to marvel at the wondrous expression his master makes when a second finger joins the first?

“Sebastian…” Ciel pants his name like a prayer, and they hear it back again and again within the chamber walls. How fitting there is an altar, when so much worship is taking place down here today. “Do you want my blood?”

Sebastian’s lips trail along Ciel’s jaw, down his throat. Never in his service has he considered taking it, but now that it’s offered, he feels his mouth water, his teeth sharpen.

“I want all of you, my lord,” Sebastian answers, hanging just above his collarbone. “Every hair, every cell, every breath, every plea.”

“Take it. Take me.” Ciel arches his body to offer Sebastian his neck. He fights against the hold on his arms, but Sebastian does not release him yet.

“Perhaps but a taste,” Sebastian muses. He parts his lips and finds home in the slope between neck and shoulder.

Ciel gives a small grunt of pain, and his hips shift down to grind against Sebsatian’s fingers. The flavor that bursts on his tongue is nothing short of luscious, so rich like the wine Ciel likes to drink when guests visit. And just like Ciel with his wine, one drop is enough to leave Sebastian dizzy, drunk with it. The cultists might have gotten the right idea calling it the divine drink.

A man of his word, Sebastian takes only a taste. His master’s disposition is feeble enough as it is, and too much blood loss will detract from the pleasure to be had by both of them. Sebastian washes his tongue over the small puncture wounds, lapping up the few drops of blood that trickle out.

Ciel is left weak with arousal, evident by the way his mouth hangs open, and the rhythmic rocking of his hips diminishes to a near stop. Sebastian frees his arms, and they stay in place on their own. As a reward, Sebastian gifts him a third finger.

“How was the taste?” Ciel asks quietly. He lowers one hand to touch the tendered area, amazement littering his gaze.

“A taste truly befitting my master,” Sebastian answers honestly. “Nothing else like it on this earth, a once in eternity blend of flavors.”

He kisses Ciel and insists his tongue forward, giving him a chance to taste himself. Ciel moans, curling inward the same way Sebastian’s fingers curl inside him. His arms drape around Sebastian’s neck again as he licks at the demon’s tongue.

Ciel’s legs spread wide when Sebastian fits himself between him. He undoes just enough buttons to pull himself out, grants himself the tease of circling his master’s hole with the head of his cock.

Sebastian’s trousers are steeped in blood from kneeling in it, and Ciel has stains all over his body like he’s been slashed to pieces. He is whole, still. Under Sebastian’s protection, he will always be whole.

On the slow, rough glide in, Ciel squeezes Sebastian’s waist with his knees. His eyes always go large during this part. The first few times, Sebastian feared he’d been tearing him open beyond repair, but when he tried to stop, Ciel commanded he continue. He’s learned to push through without stopping to check on his master, even when the fit is so tight it feels like he’s forcing a path for himself. Ciel takes him so well, as if his body craves the intrusion, and his moans for more reassure Sebastian past any sliver of doubt in his mind.

He gives his master time to adjust. Ciel’s head is thrown back, breath heaving toward the far away ceiling. Between his legs, an erection starts to form.

Eventually, he sits himself up on his elbows. Sebastian waits, slightly leaned forward on his hands, for his order to continue.

Instead, Ciel shoves him to the side and follows him as their positions flip. With the help of Sebastian’s steady grip on his waist, they end up in reverse, with Ciel astride Sebastian’s lap and a cock still buried to the hilt. On his back, the white of Sebastian’s shirtsleeves takes on the blood like spilled ink on fresh paper.

Ciel moves his hips in little circles, growing accustomed to the new angle. He watches Sebastian with hooded eyes, and Sebsastian watches back.

“What does demon blood taste like?” Ciel asks. So inquizitive.

“Like yours, I suppose. While in a human body, I possess human blood, though just for appearance's sake for when someone tries and fails to kill me. When I am not like this, when I am myself, I don’t have blood.”

A displeased hum from his master tells Sebastian this was an unsatisfactory response, and he laughs lightly.

“Would you like to taste mine?” he offers.

“Yes.”

Balancing carefully, Ciel leans down and brings his face to Sebastian’s neck. He blows warm air over the skin before choosing a random spot and biting down. Human teeth are terribly dull, and Ciel isn’t particularly the strongest, so his bite does nothing. Sebastian raises a hand to the back of Ciel’s head as a guide.

“A bit of animalistic instinct will serve you well here, little one.”

Ciel growls at the name and clamps his jaw with more ferocity. The skin breaks, and it doesn’t hurt. Sebastian feels the wash of artificial blood leave his body, little suckling sounds escaping from his master and flooding his ear. Ciel drinks it with no refinement, no semblance of the same boy who daintily sips his tea and pats his lips clean. Here, there is nothing but filth and baseness. Sebastian thrusts up once into his master, a gentle motion that he could brush off as an accident.

When Ciel pulls away, his face is indeed a mess. Blood speckles around his mouth and drips down his chin. He pants like he’s been drowning, eyes dark when he lowers himself once more to seal his mouth over Sebastian’s.

Between his own blood and Ciel’s, Sebastian prefers his master’s, of course. But the enthusiasm with which Ciel shares the thick substance between them makes it taste better. His cock throbs with it, pulling a whine from Ciel’s throat. When he breaks the kiss and sits upright, Sebastian’s hands go to his hips.

“Am I to your satisfaction?” Sebastian asks.

Ciel rolls his hips and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. So much red everywhere on his body, belonging to so many different people. Sebastian’s joins the rest, indistinguishable.

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” Ciel dismisses. “It tastes like when you brush my gums too vigorously.”

Sebastian chuckles, fingers skirting over Ciel’s ribs, over the brand on his back.

“Let us leave it for the vampires, then. We can have this for ourselves.”

He arches up into Ciel, indulging in the heat that envelops him. Ciel hums and rises up on his knees to join in Sebastian’s rhythm.

“Yes, I quite like this instead,” he agrees. “Now, take me like you’ve been ordered to.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The seal on his hand burns, as does the one in Ciel’s eye. With a steadfast grip on his master, Sebastian thrusts into him at a pace that has Ciel’s moans steccato-ing each time. His cock bobs loosely between their bodies, and the roughed movements send large ripples across the pool of blood. So wet, so sticky and filthy. It clings to Sebastian’s hair and permeates the air they breathe.

Ciel begs for him wordlessly, head lolling back. He begs with his body in the way he clenches down on Sebastian’s cock every time it leaves him, the way his hands grasp at the front of his rumpled uniform. The way his soul pulsates and calls for the end. His knees will have bruises from straddling Sebastian on a stone floor like this. He’ll complain about it later, pretending to have forgotten that he was the one who crawled up there to spear himself on a demon. Now, based on the frenzied calls of Sebastian’s name, Ciel doesn’t seem to care.

He comes untouched, which isn’t unusual for him. Sebastian is eternally attentive to his body, his needs, and knows exactly how to get him there. There is a nearly imperceptible difference in the two types of orgasms Sebastian can wring from him, and while he’ll never say it aloud, he prefers this way. Ciel is never clear headed enough to notice.

Just as he paints Sebastian’s torso, his insides quivering, Sebastian reaches his end. He’s been given permission to let it fill Ciel, provided he cleans the young master afterward, and he does so benevolently every time. With a sigh of bliss, Sebastian empties himself of his human release and lowers his hips back down to the floor.

Ciel curls himself up on Sebastian’s chest, tucking his head under his chin. His hair smells musky under Sebastian’s nose.

In the quiet, a slow drip echoes from somewhere throughout the chamber. Ciel’s heartbeat returns to normal, as does his mood. Whatever possessed him to demand such immediate satisfaction is now sated, soothed by Sebastian.

There is so much to clean up. Sebastian carries Ciel out of the blood pool and lets him drip over the dry part of the floor. With a quick flip, Sebastian repels the blood that’s soaked through and dries everything sufficiently enough to be worn. It’s far from perfect, but it will do well enough to get them home. Sebastian tenderly cleans the mess from Ciel’s cheeks and neck with the corner of his tailcoat.

Ciel stares at the eyepatch placed in his hand, not a spot of blood on it.

“Is there anything you can’t do?” he wonders aloud, the corner of his mouth tugging up.

Sebastian returns the little smile with one of his own, wrapping his overcoat around Ciel’s shoulders and fastening it closed.

“I can’t save you from the hell you’re bound for. I can only make you as comfortable as possible until the very end.”

Ciel huffs and rolls his eyes.

“Brutally honest, are we?”

“I do not tell lies.”

“Just as well,” Ciel dismisses. “Burn everything to ash, and let’s be done with it. I want at least an hour long bath tonight, with the water hot the entire time. And you will use the honey-scented oil this time. I’m sick of the smell of roses.”

Sebastian scoops Ciel into his arms. They’ll forgo taking a carriage back to the manor and walk instead. It’s quicker this way.

When Ciel rests his head on Sebastian’s shoulder, a genuine smile spreads across the demon’s face. He ascends the steps and emerges into a bright sun. Warm, but not as warm as the flames that crumble the building behind them.

“Anything my master wishes. Anything at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> in case this needs to be said, do not have sex in a pool of blood. you will catch all the diseases.
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/shamu_who)


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